Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
by StardustToRememberYouBy
Summary: You notice something in that moment that may signify why your hatred fizzled out the moment you saw her in-person. It had a name, this thing you know you feel, and that's attraction. This girl was attractive, and she made your skin crawl because of it. Catoniss. Multi-chapter. Second-person. Alternating POVs. From THG onward. AU. No flames.
1. Cato I

You are a killer. You know that. It's in your goddamn DNA to crave blood and, even more dangerous, to know how to get it.

It comes as no surprise to anyone in your District that you volunteered for the Games. They had known such a thing would happen since you first started training. How they all could have known that a little tyke of three would one day slash through the throats of competition to win his way to the top was beyond you, but, given your training, none batted an eyelash at your public announcement.

Clove was jealous, naturally, at the idea that you would be playing into the hands of the Capitol and would conquer it. It wasn't about the fact that one of you would have to kill the other - it was that one you was already dead upon volunteering though not literally. Not yet.

You glare out the window, eyes plastered to the landscape. Clove is nearby, training with her shiny new blades, and she's bitching at you that you should train as well. You know you don't need it. You want to tell her to shut the hell up and play with her new toys somewhere else, but your lips are sealed and your thoughts swarm with the taste of blood.

The Capitol looks smaller upon entering it and when you're swarmed with the purposefully pale hands of Stylists, you feel them touch your muscles and you know why. You're well-trained and your body is solid, brawny, and broad. The female Stylists make eyes at you but you're indifferent. All you want is to be left alone and allow your mind to concoct each murder your body is itching to commit. Still, they do their work and perform feats of fashionable magic, but you refuse to mask the wrath you feel inside, the wrath you _always_ feel.

Boiling to the surface of your bloodlines is a kind of rage in mass amounts, and it's this feeling that fuels you, that drives your every move. Everything you do is a precursor to barbarism and you love every second of it. You're a bloodthirsty machine, not a cog in the fucking system.

The Tribute Parade goes by you in a flash and you hardly stop to think twice about it all. The only part you recall is the entrance of the Tributes from Twelve. The female was staunch and proud with a lean physique and methods of wooing the crowd that you have never seen before. Of course, this pisses you off all the more.

Who the hell does she think she is? The male beside her is a fair bit shorter than her, and he looks easy enough to take down or, at least, bend him to your will. The female is the threat and it is on her that your focus lies. You feel the hatred mix with your already-surfaced rage, and you long to wring her neck and watch the veins in her eyes burst before the life-force abandons her. Your rage always claims dibs on kills, and Clove at your side knows this fully-well. After all, District-mate or not, she is now competition as well.

The female from Twelve is on your mind as the Stylists work to remove your ridiculously gold armor from your body and you want nothing more than to rush over and declare nemeses right from the off. You stay your vengeful hand, wanting to play this out as long as you possibly can.

After you've been stripped of your falseness, you and Clove are assigned to the second floor of Tribute suites, second for your District. So you play your part and allow Clove to do some serious ranting for a couple of hours. She talks so much and it's all violent talk anyway, so you are thankful for having learned over the years to just tune her out. Now, you barely hear a hum when she opens her tight-lipped mouth.

After your Mentors and Clove have all gone off to their respective rooms to sleep, you decide to explore. You're kind of an insomniac anyway, and with a face as near-permanently pissed off as yours it, no one would dare mess with you at the moment. You want peace and quiet and to just relax, so you do. You head down to the stables.

The horses are docked in their stalls and are whinnying and calming themselves. After quite the debut in front of the population of the Capitol, those animals deserved their current comforts.

You love horses. Perhaps it's their slender figures. Perhaps it's because you view them as majesty in living color. There is one thing you _do_ know for sure, and that's that horses could never know of your bloodlust. They are innocent to a fault and you adore them. Judging by the rustling sound nearby, an unmistakable form of human contact with dry straw.

"What the hell are _you_ doing down here?" a female's voice confronts you, and you peer around the next steed to see the object of your hatred personified in the girl from Twelve.

You fully expect yourself to want to threaten her to her face, but something stops your voice and prevents you from revealing what you had previously assumed to be how you felt towards her. She was different here, more vulnerable here.

You stroke the mane of the horse in front of you and turn your eyes away from the girl, suddenly fearing the calm that quells you. You are certain that her eyes are on you, notably that she is eyeing your physique. You feel a bit self-conscious, and that fact alone is inexplicable. One half of you wants to talk to her and discuss feelings, and the other half wrings the neck of the other in an attempt to protect your ass. Truthfully, why one half of you required being choked out was beyond you at the moment and was starting to make your head spin.

"You like horses?" you say, and your other half rages onward. _What the hell are you thinking?! This bitch is the enemy!_

She is silent for a moment, but after recognizing that you are somehow sincere, she relaxes a bit and removes her eyes from you. _Good. Should've ripped the bitch's eyes out._

"I guess," she murmurs.

You take a handful of oats into your fist and open it up to the horse in front of you, loving the feeling of the bristled mouth tickling your skin as large teeth scoop the food into its mouth. "I think they're beautiful."

She pauses, now two horses between the pair of you. "They are, yeah."

"They're gentle, but more powerful than they could ever know - "

"What're you talking about?" she interrupts, her voice somehow leaving a stabbing feeling in the center of your chest. _The fuck is wrong with you man?_

You wait, hesitate, gather your thoughts. Rounding the horse you just fed, your eyes find hers. "They have so much to lose. They are big, strong animals and, in the wild, they are vicious. Here, though, they're collected and precise...precision is key. One wrong move and they could kill someone they once thought was on their side." She nods and you begin to move away. Your back is to her and that's when he hear her step forward.

"That wasn't a threat. What's your angle?"

You turn back around to face her, your chest tightening at the realization that she is much closer to you than you had thought. "If I was going to threaten you for real, I would have already."

"Why _aren't_ you?"

You shove your hands into your pockets and heave a sigh. "I wanted to do more than threaten you earlier. I wanted to feel you bleed out in my hands." She doesn't appear to be shocked by this. "I don't know why I haven't made a formal threat." Your eyes narrow as you stare at her, her persona quivering under the weight of your gaze. "Why the hell haven't _you_ threatened _me_?"

Her stance quivers once more before stabilizing. "Same as you. Don't know why." She folds her arms across her chest and the pair of you simply wait on in silence, the awkwardness palpable and thick in the space of breaths exchanged within the five-foot gap.

_This is the worst. Say something, dumb-ass. She must want you to._

"You got a name, Two?" she questions.

You nod. "I do. You?"

She shakes her head. "You first."

You sigh. "Cato."

"Katniss."

"Alright then, Girl On Fire."

You notice something in that moment that may signify why your hatred fizzled out the moment you saw her in-person. It had a name, this thing you know you feel, and that's attraction. This girl was attractive, and she made your skin crawl because of it. You know that there is no other explanation, and now your inner wrath is extremely pissed off.

"Never knew a Career could have a heart."

Her words cut you to the quick, though you aren't surprised in the least to hear them. She's right, of course. Other Careers _are_ heartless. _You_ are heartless, at least where this girl isn't concerned.

"We're alive, aren't we? Hearts are a part of the deal."

She nods, her silence in perfect agreement with what you had intended to say to her. She strokes the horse between you with the backward motion of her fingers, and you feel your body ache at the sight, yearning for her to touch _you_ in that way. You shake it off, Wrath fighting off Vulnerability for now.

"Listen...we shouldn't linger here. If we're caught fraternizing, it could cost us both potential Sponsors." It pains you to say that aloud, wanting to remain here and chat with the Girl On Fire until the damned cows come home, but you know you can't. You have to play this smart, especially if you want to see her again and, goddamn it, you _do_.

"I think I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to that. I've been told I'm pretty threatening."

You pause, Vulnerability winning for the moment. "I don't find you threatening."

She gives you a half smile and you know Vulnerability has won the fight. "Good to know."

"I mean, you're intimidating for sure, but I don't see you as a threat."

"Ditto."

A sound of voices from outside of the stables leaves the pair of you hunkered over, crouching behind the horses as you whisper out some plans.

"Four days of training - that's all we're allowed."

She nods. "Then the interviews...then the Games."

You sigh, thinking things through. "I'd like to speak with you again...if that's alright with you."

"It is." Her words come quickly, almost as if she was ready to tell you that whatever you had to say was the right thing. "Tomorrow then?"

You grin. "Tomorrow."

With that, she slips from your sight and out of the stables, directly passing by the stablehands. You are proud of this moment, knowing that now you possessed a real confidant. Of course, it was coincidental that you were attracted to her.

Too bad you don't believe in coincidences.


	2. Katniss I

You just _know_ that Peeta is going to have a thing or two to say about your sneaking out so late at night. He's practically a mother to you now, and it's a painstaking reminder of how little you miss having a parent always over your shoulder, dictating exactly what you can and cannot do. Your own mother hasn't been like that since before your father died, and, even then, she was passive at her strictest.

Sure enough, he is there waiting for you as soon as you return to the floor. He instantly begins to chide you for being out so late, pegging such a move as "irresponsible" and "risky" - his words, not yours.

You decide not to tell him where you were or who you've been speaking to. Cato's words resonate in your head, the ones about your shared interaction being considered fraternization, and such a label is not something you're willing to bear the load of quite yet.

Cato's visage swims in your clouded mind as you shut the door to your room, Peeta's feeble attempts to dissuade you of your "mistake" forced to remain outside of your immediate line of sight. Undoubtedly, he will rat on you to both Haymitch and Effie, but, just for tonight, you don't care. The male from Two is the _only_ thing on your mind.

**::::**

By the time you are instructed to get dressed in the required uniform, you are practically itching to get moving and to see the blond boy haunting you.

Surprisingly, you are not reprimanded by your handlers as you and Peeta make your way to the training facilities to prepare for the day and listen to opening remarks from the head Trainer.

Tributes pool in little-by-little, and you are careful to disguise your wandering eyes in case anyone of importance should happen to notice that your attention was solid and not fleeting as you'd have them believe. In fact, you were just waiting for _him_ to show up. And that's when he did.

He came in, his stride prideful and definitely cocky, a side of him that you hadn't seen last night. He had been genuine while with you, but here, amid Trainers and under surveillance by the Gamemakers, he was amid his element, he was a Career. The fact that this side of him exists bothers you slightly, though it is no surprise. An interesting factor to you is the effect that his presence has on the other Tributes, all intimidated by his towering stature, broad frame of muscle, and violent demeanor. It's like they can sense that he is hunting them. Their fears are justifiable. They are already prey.

You glance up at him briefly, yuor gazes catching and conveying the need - nay, the _desire_ \- to be closer. HIs eyes blink and he shivers, his eyes no longer gazing into yours. You feel that the risk is now palpable and is ever-thickening towards discovery. You decide to remove your eyes from him entirely, knowing that he is still there, a statue for your visual pleasure as you need it. And, damn, you _need_ it.

The fact that your attraction to this boy that had literally caught your attention overnight was a testament to your belief that there was something between the pair of you worth pursuing. While intimidating, you find that Cato is quite easy on the eyes. He is immensely handsome and more than capable, a promise that he will do what it takes to keep you close and bring you still closer together.

_"In two weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead."_ No other speech you've ever heard has started off with such a blunt statement, and you hear several Tributes gasp a bit. All you can think is "No shit!" as if they should've already faced death mentally. Hell, you've done that hundreds of times.

The Trainer continues speaking to you and impulse wins out. your gaze flickers up towards Cato and, originally, he is not looking at you. That changes quickly. His blue hues flash in your direction, a smarmy kind of partial smirk stretching his threadlike lips. Your heart murmurs and you rapidly blink to once again turn your gaze elsewhere. Your thoughts on him remain, however, but you find it comforting, in spite of the atmosphere.

When the Trainers instruct for the Tributes to disperse, they do, and you do as well. Most of them make their ways to the melee bits to gain hand-to-hand combat skill with a Trainer, while others head for the obstacle course and individualized weapon stations. You are in line behind the boy from Ten who is busy whacking away at a Trainer with a wooden club, and that's when you hear a noise from nearby, a commotion beginning, and it all starts with a familiar and much-missed voice.

"Hey, Six, where's my knife, huh?" Cato says, approaching the seated boy from District Six with gruff and determination.

"What're you talking about?" the boy responds, standing as Cato comes towards him more roughly as if about to shove him and begin attacking him. The former occurs, the latter is prevented by a nearby handler.

"I put my knife right there, and now it's gone!"

"I didn't take your knife!"

"Yes, you took my knife!"

At the boy from Six's repetition of his previous claim, two Peacekeepers were required to pull Cato back from the boy effectively, the brutish boy nearly overpowering them. This leaves you a bit breathless, your heart racing. You want Cato to stop, but you say nothing, watching on as an innocent bystander instead.

"Don't touch me!" Six says as Cato shoves him and is about to do more. "I didn't take your knife!"

"You took my knife, you liar!" Cato bellows, voice catching the attention of the entire populace inside of the training zone.

"I did _not_!"

"You _liar_!"

"You little punk! You took _my_ knife!"

"I was just sitting here!"

"Get _off_ me!" Cato said through gritted teeth to the Peacekeepers, loosening himself from their grasp and managing to get free. Instead, he paced back and forth, eyes dead-set on Six and his demeanor reminding you of a caged predator waiting for his moment to strike. "I'll finish you off right now, kid." Cato stopped pacing and instead gave the boy a more serious look. "Actually, better yet - I'll wait for the Arena. You're the _first_ one I'll get, so watch your back."

The head Trainer blew her whistle a few times to signal for everyone to return to their training modes.

Cato backed away, a sick kind of snicker filling the space between himself and the now at-risk boy from Six. "You _know_ who you're messing with." Turning on his heels, he stalked towards the weapons station, and you are relieved that it's over.

A bit later, you are grateful to be working at the survival stations, the faux grass giving you more comfort than you'd imagined. Your skills in the wilderness are second-to-none, but practice couldn't hurt, so you do as you're supposed to.

"Looks like you've got a shadow," Peeta comments from his place in the camouflage station beside yours. You barely hear him, but his words have weight. You glance up from your snare to see the small, dark-skinned girl from Eleven peering at you from behind a pillar. You are instantly reminded of Prim and your heart sinks.

You gesture for this girl to come closer, a non-threatening kind of smile crossing your lips. This is now the fourth time you've caught her staring at you, and now it's time to find out why. "What's your name?" you ask and, for a moment, she stands in silence.

"Rue."

"I'm Katniss."

"I know."

You wipe your hands on the sides of your pants and stand, smiling down at her innocent appearance. "Why have you been watching me, Rue?"

She is sheepish for a moment, but finally removes her hands from behind her back and shows you what she has been concealing. It's a shiny blade. "It belongs to that boy from Two." Your eyes want to widen and your breath wants to catch in your throat, but you don't allow either of them the pleasure of making you look affected by this statement. "There was this rock with it." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flat stone that appeared to have etchings on its surface. "I didn't know they meant so much to him or I wouldn't have taken them."

Your mind reels. This is your chance to get to speak to Cato in public, even if malicious words are shared and violent feelings become reality. A chance is a chance. "I can return them for you, if you want."

"They frighten me."

"They don't frighten _me_," you comfort, outstretching your hand. Timidly, she places each item into your opened palm before flashing a smile and scurrying away. You clench your fist around the items and march your way over to the weapons station, Cato's broad back facing you as he prepares for swordplay. "Hey, Two."

Cato perks up and wheels around, his eyes narrowing at the sight of you. "Well, well. Come to surrender now, or do you want to play first?"

That very sentence has a strong effect on your skin, enough to produce goosebumps, but you remain stoic and unmoved. "Here. Found this at the obstacle course. Six didn't take it." You show him the knife, handing it over with a straightened elbow and unquivering brow.

"Bullshit," Clove grumbled from Cato's side.

"Clove, I'm handling this." The small, blade-wielding threat stalked off, ranting to Marvel, the boy from One, as she did so. "So, you've come to admit _you_ stole it, eh?"

"Not at all. I found it."

"Sure." His voice is attempting to make himself sound uncertain, and that's when it becomes clear to you that this was all a ploy to get to talk to you. "What the hell is _that_?" He is referring to the rock in your other hand.

"No clue. Found it with the knife. It's all marked up and dried out. It yours?"

He scoffs, swiftly stealing the knife away from your hand and almost slicing your palm open in the process. "Hell no. With all these weapons at my disposal, I don't need a fucking knife for back-up."

"Fine," you say, allowing your tones to harden. Your heels spin you around so that you can walk away with the final word.

"Hey, Twelve," Cato says, his voice catching you in your path. "You might wanna skip that rock across the water. You're gonna fucking lose no matter what anyway." He laughs at his own joke and you shake your head, giving the appearance of total frustration as you march back to the snare you'd been working on before. Once you're back, you recall that you still have the rock in your hand.

If that entire turn of events _had_ been planned out so that Cato could get to talk to you alone, his allowance in giving you this rock was a signal, a message. Perhaps that's what the markings on its surface are for. He had said to skip it across water, a point that he had disguised to sound like childish pasttimes are your only true talent anymore, but you suspect that water on this rock might give you the answer that you need.

The water pool nearby is small, just enough to train Tributes in the art of extracting and treating fresh water while in the wilderness. You're about to use it for a different reason. You allow the rock to slip into the water and you let it sit for a few seconds before extracting it and settling it into the grass, making sure that the blades of green were tall enough to mask what you were about to uncover. When the water evaporates from the stone, you are thankful that you possess intuition and that you had been able to decipher Cato's message.

Across the rock is written:

Second tower, tenth floor  
Late  
Be there  
-C

So he _did _want to see you again! Your heart flutters at the idea of being with him again. The rock in front of you is solid evidence of an illicit relationship forming between Tributes aligned to be mortal enemies. You use it as tinder to practice for fire-sparking, the friction and soot smoothing out and blackening the message it had once borne.

You silently thank your father for passing on his incredible memory as that brief message is now burned into your corneal layer, and now you can't wait for the lateness to come.


	3. Cato II

Your mind races as you pace across the floor, your bare feet not making a sound as they shift against the chilly hard wood beneath you. Your fingers are wound together, tightly wringing as you begin to realize your own impatience at the anticipation of the arrival of the girl from Twelve. Had she received your message? Was she responsive enough to make the dangerous trek to your requested meeting place? Would she even dare? _You_ dared, so waiting is of the utmost importance.

The Capitol lay just outside the broad glass windows, the cheering crowds beckoning the ever-looming arrival of the Games, and still, all you can think about is _her_.

Just when you begin to imagine that all was lost and that your attempts had been in vain, the soft 'ding' of the lift brings your wandering mind back to reality and that's when _she_ appears, her eyes searching for you as she exits the lift and approaches you.

Something within your chest swells at the sight of her in more relaxed clothing, her figure well-masked in the bagginess of her plum-colored top. Her once-braided hair is loose in wavy tendrils cascading along her shoulders and down her back, and that is when one word enters your mind: _beautiful_.

"Cato," she manages to whisper, her eyes meeting yours.

"You got my message," you say, and she nods. "Why did you decide to come?"

"The same reason you invited me to be here in the first place." Her vagueness on the topic suggested only one thing: neither of you could verbalize the reality of what was happening between you. The mentality was that Tributes from Two and Twelve should be mortal enemies, one a Career and the other a Volunteer from an outlying District. "Why is this...I mean...why are here right now?"

You smirk, an expression meant more for yourself than it was directed towards her. "The same reason I invited you to be here in the first place," you retort, and she nods as if to say _touche_.

You move over to where a couple of armchairs are positioned to face one another and gesture that she is allowed to take a seat. She does with silence and you, too, sit down in the chair across from hers.

"I, uh," you begin, half-chuckling to yourself as you lean forward and rest your elbows against your thighs, "I've never done anything like this, especially so risky to my reputation and the good standing of my District in the Capitol. Shit, if they saw me here, I'd be disowned."

"Maybe you wouldn't be," she says, and you are almost too surprised to hear her speak so soon after you. "Maybe they would understand this as a rebellion against them."

You grin, flashing your expression up towards her and you can feel her shudder under the weight of your stare. "_Really_?"

She sighs. "Not really. I was just...making conversation..." You are quiet and avert your eyes from her. "'Brutal.'" Once again, your gazes meet and she is the one holding the reins in the moment. "That's what they all call you. 'Brutal' and 'bloody.'"

You nod, knowing full-well that those words had described you since your first Reaping. "Apt terms. You've seen what I can do - "

"But what are you _capable _of?"

"So much more." That phrase sends her body into shivers and you clear your throat, used to such harsh descriptions of yourself. "You seem pretty capable and strong on your own."

"Apt," she repeats and the two of you chuckle softly at the shared joke.

"Good with a bow. You're tough. Abrasive. Bull-headed. Resilient. Quick-learner. Observant."

Katniss blushes a deep shade of red beneath her sun-worn skin. "You...you're magnificent. Stubborn. Arrogant. Sadistic."

"...all are good things where I come from. Honorable things. Does that frighten you?"

She shakes her head, her gaze once more meeting hers. "If it did, I wouldn't have come."

"The boy from your District is in love with you." Your words are not much of a surprise to her, but you can see that this bothers her slightly. "Did you know?"

She nods after a moment of silence and ponderings. "Yes. He has always felt that way about me." You are uncomfortable, the chair no longer giving you any relaxation. Instead, you rise from your seat, shoving your hands into your pockets and crossing over to the large window well-lit from the life of the streets below. "I don't feel the same."

Her words slip into one ear and out the other. Perhaps she and this other boy - this _weakling_, this undeserving louse - have some kind of history, a past that your presence is screwing over. Your eyes gaze out at the bustle of the city, somehow still alive, awake, and energized with the draw of what is to come.

"...Cato," she says and your spine quivers to hear her utter your name. You feel the gap between your existence and hers shorten, and that's when she appears at your side, her eyes scanning all that you are currently enraptured by.

"Look at them all," you mutter, and she hears you. "How can they be so blissfully unaware of what we have to go through?"

"It doesn't affect them like it affects us," she responds, and neither of you looks at the other. "They're detached from it."

You nod, but you understand she probably didn't see that. The heat between your bodies is dense as you are closer to her now than ever before. She raises a hand and places it gingerly onto the glass, her eyes fixated on the view, and that's when you make your move.

Your brawny, broad hand rises to meet hers, tenderly caressing the fingertips she has pressed to the glass, and she does not pull away. Instead, she reciprocates your move to give you electric sparks of her own.

Your breathing is ragged, hitching in the back of your throat as your heart pounds and your muscles quake. You turn your head to look at her and she gives you a faint smile. All you want is her, all you _need_ is her, and though it scares the living hell out of you, you can't hold back, so you lean in.

Her breath against your face is hot, each wave sending goosebumps popping up across your skin wherever it graces you. Eyes blink rapidly and your bodies shift closer. Fingers wrap around fingers while your free hand moves up to pull her in closer and seal the gap.

Foreheads lean together, and there's a soft moment of tender intimacy the two of you are frightened to break. The moment your lips touch, you know that this girl will be all you need in your life, the only true sustenance in a dog-eat-dog world of violence and survival. She is there, waiting for you, but you hesitate, not wanting to let this moment go, not wanting to let _her_ go.

As you pull her face in by your free hand, the other intwined with hers twists to wrap around her back at the waist and pull her closer - your hand remains locked with hers. It takes a moment, but you can feel her lips brush against yours, and that's when you kiss her.

The moment your lips come into contact with hers, a new wave of feelings washes over you and you are, for the first time in your life, petrified. If you could have chosen in that moment to remain there, locking lips with her for all time, you would have, and it pains you to know that you can't.

The muscles of her mouth shift softly to push her lips against yours and you release a gentle sigh of contentment at the electrified experience. Your own lips are knowing, fitting against hers as if they were fashioned to receive her kiss, and you release her fingers, using that hand to grip her clothes and pull her flush against your body. Her slender arms drape around your shoulders to enable her to give you a deeper kiss. The sweet taste of her tongue in your mouth gives you life and you return the favor tenderly, using the other hand to hold the back of her neck and keep your mouths interlocked, tongues dancing around the other's as if that was all they were meant for.

The kiss is hot, heavy, and leaves you breathless as you slow your pace and pull away to make eye contact with her. She is shocked, to be sure, but both of you know that this was supposed to happen.

"I think I'm in love with you," you blurt out in a half-whisper, hoping to God you didn't scare her away, regardless of your temperament.

Katniss looks into your eyes with a blank expression before taking your face into her hands and bringing it down to give you another, tender kiss. When she pulls away, she is smiling and you are not ready for those feelings. "I think I love you, too," she admits, gracefully sliding her nose against yours.

The two of you smile and share soft laughs, bodies and faces so close together, but when the moment breaks and the cold, harrowing imminence of doom settles into the space between you, the smiles and the laughter fade and all you are left with is a wrathful disposition at the thought of anything trying to pry her from your grasp.

"I don't want this to end," you say, leaning your forehead against hers, "but I know it must...at least for now."

She nods, her forehead not leaving yours and her arms circling your neck in a possessive way. "I know. I don't want to leave you."

"Tomorrow night, same time, same place." Your words are beckoning, longing to have an eternity of experiences like this one.

"I will be here," she reassures you before you share one last, deep kiss with her. She pulls back and begins to retract from you, but her hands have slid down to hold yours as she does so, wanting to hold onto you for as long as your bodies will allow.

Neither of you utters another syllable as you stare at her, your heart aching as the gap between your bodies becomes an ocean of distance. She finally, reluctantly, releases your hands and drifts back onto the lift to return to her own floor.

Something in you senses the oncoming doom, the ever-looming smell of death as it circles you, and now, her. Your resolution hardens, and you promise yourself in that moment that she is all that matters and that you will do whatever it takes to keep her alive, even if it means your own demise.


End file.
